


Meditation

by orphan_account



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: ? - Freeform, Bondage, Dirty Talk, F/M, Magic, Teasing, Tentacles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-18
Updated: 2016-05-18
Packaged: 2018-06-09 04:00:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6889147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>requests: “hi yes hello! i uh. you got any more of those free fics? if i may request one w/ Sans? fem gen/fem pronouns, i’m thinking a vocal Sans w/ some body worship! and if you’re ok w/ it maybe reader being restrained by Sans (via magic preferably) but understood if that’s not something you can do! bless u for writing these <3 <3″</p><p>“Ah if you could do reader bondage and teasing that’d be great…”</p><p>Sans is meditating to strengthen his magic and you interrupt him</p>
            </blockquote>





	Meditation

**Author's Note:**

> i love magic/one sided sex bye

You stomped your snowy boots on the rug outside, entering the house and slamming the door. You slip out of your boots, socks, snow coat, and gloves, trying to get more comfortable in the warm house. Cracking your back, then your neck, you slump into the house. You rumble up the stairs until you stop outside your door, hand on the handle. Your head cranes to the right to Sans’s room, where his closed door is… leaking?

Curious, you step over and press your ear to the door, listening. It’s a faint thrum, a physical energy you can hear and feel. You kneel down, press your fingers into the blue fog leaking from underneath the door. It’s warm, and really does feel like fog. Determined, you open the door and step inside.

Sans is sitting cross legged on his bed, eyes closed and hands on his knees. He’s surrounded by blue tendrils, bright and glowing and swirling around him. Some are huge, some are small, some thrash about and some swirl delicately. Others are not quite formed yet, ethereal wisps of shimmery blue and black void. Your mouth is agape, watching him in his state of concentration.

He doesn’t notice you for a while, until the door closes behind you from a gentle push of energy.

His eyes snap open, one eye void, the other a flaming blue. The less formed tendrils disappear, others fizzle from existence, and many shrink. Only a few, however, lunge at you, hovering over you menacingly, before snapping onto your wrists and ankles like snap bracelets. Your eyes are wide and sweat glistens your forehead.

“Ha….” Sans blinks, though struggles to maintain his concentration. “Human? What are you doing in here?”

You’re panting, part nervous, and part… something else. You test the tendrils holding you steady, spread eagled, but they refuse to budge. You bite your lip. Sans, on the other hand, does not miss a thing. His one eye scans you, every inch of you. Then, he relaxes, grins. He allows some of his other tendrils to dissipate, leaving only the ones holding you. 

“Human… don’t you know better than to barge in on a guy during his alone time?” His void eye slips closed lazily. You glare at him. 

“This isn’t how I’d planned to practice, but…” He steps closer to you, considers your clothing. He leans close to your face, smaller tendrils forming around him. “If opportunity doesn’t knock…” The tendrils slither under your clothing, around the hemlines, everywhere. “You build a door.” On his final word, the tendrils tear your clothing away, leaving you gasping in shock. 

He’s surveying you, and you don’t want to speak, to break the trance. He watches your breasts heave with each breath, your muscles twitch with excitement, your mouth open to release the pants building. 

His eye flares, and a new tendril appears. It swirls to life, circling you until it’s fully formed. It slides down your cheek like a loving touch. Sans is now leaning against the wall, arms crossed, an evil grin on his face. You lock eyes with him, and the tendril begins exploring your body. It wraps around your throat, as if considering choking you. It briefly squeezes, tentatively, barely cutting off your air for more than a second. It releases its hold, however, and trails down your clavicle, slithering in a pool in the hollow of your throat then whirling back out. 

It finally reaches your breasts, and flickers in and out of existence for a second. You see him let out a breath - he’s excited for this, he is loving this, but keeping that concentration is what matters most. It flicks and rubs at your nipples, cupping your breast up and even manages to pinch sometimes. You writhe against your restraints, but he keeps up his assault.

Another tendril is forming around you, and slinks down your hips, curling around your thighs over and over. It slides up your inner thigh gingerly, causing you to shake with excitement. It starts off very small, rubbing the outside of your core as a whole, sometimes as a larger appendage, others as a thinner pole. 

Finally it separates your outer lips and stays there, letting the cool air hit your sensitive skin. You whimper, desperate to be touched as your nipples are still gently toyed with. 

For a moment, you forgot all about Sans, watching your every move. You crack your eyes open (when had they shut?) and look at him. He smirks, though more focused on his work. But he opens his mouth to finally speak.

“Well, human? Enjoying yourself?” You nod, moaning as the tendrils twitch briefly. He smirks again. “Beautiful. Someday I’ll really teach you not to just barge into a guy’s room…” You try to buck down, make him catch a hint. 

“I want to touch you, human. So badly. I want to grope those pretty breasts of yours, to tease those nipples until you’re a whining, begging, mess.” The tendrils at your nipples slow to a feather light tease, matching his words. You gasp for air, but each buck just makes you more desperate for friction that isn’t there. “Careful though… I bite.” They clamp down briefly, making you cry out. 

“I want to tease you until you’re wrecked. Maybe I’d use my fingers first,” he purrs, and a new tendril appears. He motions with his hand, as if waving the thought off, but the tendril moves towards you, a menacing threat. It’s small, long and slim, like his fingers. Arms crossed again, he watches you. “I’d draw on your thighs a bit, into the crease of your hips.” With each word, his newest tendril echoes his commands, drawing patterns on your skin. I’d have you writhing for more,” he adds, as the tendrils at your nipples resume their work - alternating between a light, teasing touch, pinching, flickering…. 

“Then maybe I’d get tired of waiting. I’d brush around your clit, cause I know you want it so, so bad.” The tendril finally circles your clit, not yet making direct contact. You moan his name, totally broken. But he continues.

“I’d tease your entrance a little, too. Barely touching the outside, until you buck against me, and then i’d give you just a little taste, just the tip of my finger, and slide it back out, just shallow, tiny thrusts.” The tendril follows suit, though occasionally it gives a little wiggle inside of you. “And you’d beg for more, and I’d be happy to oblige. One, just one finger, sliding in so… so slowly, centimeter by centimeter.” And so it goes, the blue digit maddening. 

Sans cracked his neck, placing his hands behind his head. “Mmm. Maybe once you were good enough, I’d reward you.” A new tendril arrives, and it curls close to your clit, not yet touching. Waiting. “Maybe. Or maybe I’d just wait a while, make you real, real hungry for me.”

“But by now,” Sans purrs, as the tendril slides out from your opening, “you’re so fucking soaked and writhing and begging for more.” True enough, you are, though not begging, just moaning. You won’t beg, you won’t break his trance, his concentration. “So I’ll just indulge you this once.” The tendril’s form enlarges, much bigger than his finger, and more akin to the blue cock he loved to conjure. Instead of ending, though, it just grew in size and stayed attached, drawing a line all the way to his back. 

“I’d tease you some more, of course. You’re so fucking wrecked and filthy, and I love it.” The cock tendril slowly ruts against the outside of your pussy, and you can barely contain your anticipation. Then, it positioned at your entrance and not even half the tip pressed against it. You whimpered, wanting so badly to rip from your restraints and fuck him.

“But… I won’t fuck you. No, I think I’ll leave you there, for interrupting me.” He smirks evilly. But you won’t allow it.

“Sans… hhh….” You breathe, opening your mouth and letting your tongue loll. You look at him through hooded eyes. “Fu…. Sans, please, fuck me, I want you cock so, so bad, please.”

This seems to break him, and he trembles. A few swirls of tendril mist disappeared as he loses some of his concentration. The cock tendril fucks into you, and you scream out in pleasure of finally, finally being filled. Every thrust brings out a chorus of “Sans, Sans, fuck, yes please,” and you’re panting and gasping. The tendril at your clit reminds you of its presence by finally touching you, going so fast and finally giving you the pressure you need. With all that buildup, it doesn’t take long before you’re screaming Sans’s name and coming hard.

As you ride your final aftershocks, you open your eyes. He’s sweating with strain, trying to control his magic and his emotions at the same time. When you finally finish, his tendrils slowly dissipate, but as you collapse from the hold suspending you in the air he catches you. You sink to the floor together and he cradles you closely. “I gotcha,” he whispers over and over against your skull as you heave breaths into his shoulder. 

“I gotcha.”


End file.
